


Birthday Suit

by EAU1636



Category: Boyfriend Material - Alexis Hall
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Family Issues, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAU1636/pseuds/EAU1636
Summary: It's Oliver's birthday, and Luc is determined to make it a happy one.
Relationships: Oliver Blackwood/Luc O'Donnell
Comments: 26
Kudos: 97





	Birthday Suit

I carefully set the white box down on the kitchen countertop and pulled my phone out of my pocket. It had been buzzing determinedly while I was on my way to Oliver’s, but I was too worried about keeping a firm hold on my precious cargo to risk diverting a hand elsewhere.

Our WhatsApp group, currently named It’s My Party and I’ll Bi If I Want To, was filled with eager messages.

_What did you plan for lovely Ollie’s birthday?_

_Where are you taking him?_

DID YOU BUY HIM A CAKE?

DID YOU BAKE HM A CAKE??

ARE U NAKED INSIDE A CAKE RIGHT NOW WAITING FOR HIM??!

**Oh is cake customary on birthdays? I guess I could pick up a pack of Jaffa Cakes for him?**

YOUD BETTER BE JOKING U KNOB

 **Can’t talk now hard 2 type inside this cake** , I messaged back with a grin.

On a normal Wednesday night our plans usually consisted of eating a healthy yet miraculously delicious meal cooked by Oliver, our legs tangled together beneath the tiny kitchen table (I still haven’t converted him to the slovenly joys of eating in the living room in front of the telly, though I’m determined to win out eventually) and then sprawling out on the couch while he pretends to look over work while secretly being just as invested as I am in the rubbish reality tv shows I’m watching. Mum and Judy would be proud.

But tonight was different because it was Oliver’s birthday. The first birthday he’d celebrated since we’d gotten together. A relationship MILESTONE that I was maybe just the tiniest bit anxious about getting right.

A couple of months before, when I’d had my birthday, Oliver had done a million thoughtful, perfect things to make it special. Because he’s that kind of person. And I’m... me. So, yeah, the bar had been set pretty high for birthdays and I was just hoping to make his half as happy as he’d made mine.

I thought I was doing okay so far, despite the fact that I’d barely remembered my own birthday in the past, let alone anyone else’s. I’d thrown him a party the Saturday before, not a surprise party, I guessed that wouldn’t exactly be his thing, just a casual get together. Bridget and Tom had offered to host and all of our friends had been there.

It had been a little awkward at first, meshing our separate groups into a sort of Brady Bunch blended friendship family. Though I liked his friends and he liked mine, I wasn’t sure how well the two groups would get on. But with Bridge serving as a... well... bridge between the groups, and a shared love of taking the piss out of Oliver and I, they were all soon laughing and joking together as if they’d been friends for years.

The James Royce-Royces had recently adopted a baby, changing the WhatsApp group name to Daddy Queerest in the process, and it was their first night out in a month. They had spent most of the party swapping stories with Ben about terrifying sounding things like night weaning and tummy time. Priya and Peter debated the merits of art education for young people while Bridget (on time and without a work disaster for maybe the first time in her entire life) regaled the rest of us with the story of how she’d known all along that Oliver and I were destined to be together.

In the end, everyone seemed to have a great time, including Oliver. But today being his actual birthday, I wanted to make sure tonight was special as well.

I gingerly slid the box over to the corner of the counter, not exactly hidden, but a bit out of sight.

Then I headed upstairs to change for dinner. I’d made reservations at Quo Vadis, where we’d had our first “fake” date.

Though I knew I couldn’t hope to look as put together and classy as Oliver always did, I’d brought a shirt to change into that I hoped was at least closer to debonair than debauched.

Oliver shouldn’t have been home yet, so I was surprised to see the upstairs bathroom door closed, and a light on inside.

“Oliver?” I said, walking over to the door. “Are you in there?”

I heard what sounded like a nose being blown, and then the tap turning on.

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’ll just be a minute.”

The tap continued to run, but I didn't hear any other movement from inside.

“Oliver? Are you alright?”

“Of course. I’m fine.”

“Okay. So, you’re not just hiding in the bathroom with the tap running to make it sound like you’re actually doing something in there?”

“Why would I be doing that?” He asked, a slight sharpness edging his voice.

I heard the tap turn off.

“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re upset about something?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Okay. Are you coming out then?”

“No,” he said softly.

My stomach twisted. Had I fucked things up so badly already? I’d woken up early to make him breakfast that morning, and he’d seemed happy enough then, but now that I looked back on it I felt embarrassed by how simple it had been. It was only blueberry french toast, easy enough for a child to make. And going out to dinner was probably boring. I’d honestly never felt as, well, _cherished_ as I did on my birthday this year. Every aspect of the day Oliver planned showed how well he knew me and how much he cared. And what had I given him in return? A low key party, an unimpressive breakfast and a dull dinner date. He deserved so much more.

It always felt like a fist squeezing around my heart when Oliver was upset, but especially now, on a day he deserved more than ever to feel special and loved.

I rested my forehead against the door, wanting to get as close to him as possible. “Have I fucked this up?”

“No,” Oliver was quick to answer, “No Lucien, of course not. You’ve been... wonderful. You’ve made me so happy. You always do.”

“Well you don’t exactly seem happy right now.”

“No,” he admitted. “But it’s nothing to do with you.”

I heard a soft thud and guessed he’d sat down on the floor just on the other side of the door.

“Oh God, Lucien. I’m so sorry. I’m ruining all of your plans. I thought I could pull myself together before you got here, I don’t want to spoil things, not when you’ve done all of this for me.”

“Oliver, I only made plans because I thought they would make you happy. It’s your birthday, I want you to spend it doing whatever you want to do.”

“I did want to go to dinner, of course I did. It sounded perfect. But then... I just don’t know now.”

“Okay. Do you think you could come out here so we can figure it out together?”

There was only silence for a long moment. It took all my restraint to stay quiet and give him time. I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him and do whatever I could to make this better.

“Alright,” he said finally.

The handle turned, and the door slowly opened. Oliver’s nose was a bit pinker than usual, his eyes still swimming. Seeing him that way made something in me crumble, but it also filled me with this overwhelming love, knowing that he trusted me with his vulnerability.

I held my arms out and he stepped into them, leaning against me and tucking his head against my chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This day is about you, there’s no way to do it wrong, okay?” I ran my fingers gently through his hair. “We can do whatever you want to tonight. Though I am hoping we can do it together, and not through a closed door.”

He looked up at me and nodded, then slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.

I sat down beside him and took his hand in mine. I loved the way our fingers fit together, like puzzle pieces locking into place, both of us finally where we belonged.

“You were right,” he said with a half smile, “the bathroom is an unexpectedly solacing space.”

I smiled back. “Now that we’re finally in a place where I don’t need to talk to you through the bathroom door, maybe it isn’t the best time for you to pick up the habit?”

He quirked a grin.

“I shouldn’t have run the tap for no reason. It’s a waste of water,” he confessed with a sigh.

“We should probably shower together from now on to help the conservation effort,” I suggested.

He gave a little huff of a laugh, then looked down at our clasped hands. He didn’t seem in any hurry to explain what had upset him.

I did my best to give him time.

And by my best I mean I held out maybe two minutes, probably closer to one, before I finally cracked.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? I’m kind of fumbling around in the dark here.”

“Title of your new sex tape? _Fumbling Around In the Dark_?” He asked, letting the hint of a smile escape the corner of his mouth.

I laughed, feeling my shoulders release. Things couldn’t be too dire if he was making sex tape jokes.

“It’s so stupid,” he said miserably.

“Lucky for you, stupid is my specialty,” I said.

He gave me his _don’t belittle yourself, even as a joke, you’re worth more than that_ face. A face I’m quite familiar with by now.

“You can talk to me,” I said, in what I hoped was the sort of gentle, comforting voice he used when I was upset, because he certainly always made me feel safe. “Whatever’s going on, you can always tell me. You know that right?”

He nodded, and nuzzled his face close to mine and then leaned to kiss me. A soft simplicity of a kiss that almost took my breath away with its sweetness. Then he rested his head against my shoulder.

“Mum and dad called earlier.”

I could hear the effort it was taking him to keep his voice steady. A blaze of anger lit inside me and rose up in my chest.

Of course. I should have known.

Of course his parents would call on his birthday. And of course they would spend their phone call making him feel like shit.

Since the disastrous anniversary party when I’d first met them, I’d done my best to keep my feelings on Oliver’s family to myself. They were his parents. He loved them. He’d spent a lifetime trying to live up to their expectations. I understood, all too well, how hard it was to question and change ingrained beliefs and behaviors, however self-sabotaging they might be.

Oliver had started seeing a counselor a few months back, and it had helped. But there was no magic fix for this situation. They were still his family. He was still going to see them and talk to them and they were not going to change. Which meant that they were going to continue to unload all of their bullshit expectations and insidious criticisms and double edged compliments onto him. And I was going to continue to feel like I wanted to ring them up and tell them what complete and utter arseholes they were for not recognizing that their son was absolutely perfect exactly as he was.

But saying all that to Oliver wasn’t going to help. It was my job to do what I could to get him through this, not to turn it into my own selfish vent session. So I kept my mouth shut and listened.

“I thought I’d prepared myself,” he said quietly, “I mean I know by now what to expect. I tried to remind myself of what Dr. Gardner and I have discussed. I know the way they treat me is a reflection of them and not me, and that the validation I want is not something I’m going to get from them, but I can get it from other people in my life who accept me for who I am.”

“Like maybe... your boyfriend, who thinks you’re pretty much the most amazing person he’s ever met?”

“I hadn’t even thought of him, actually, but now that you mention it...” Oliver looked over at me, a fleck of silver twinkle in his soft gaze.

“It’s just that it’s one thing to know something is true,” he went on slowly, rubbing his temple with his free hand, “and another thing to feel that it’s true. And before they called all those things Dr. Gardner and I talked about seemed true. But then when I picked up the phone and heard their voices all I could think about was how disappointed they are in me, what an inadequate failure I am. And as pathetic as it is, I just want them to be proud of me.”

“That isn’t pathetic, it’s normal. Of course you want your parents to be proud of you and love you for who you are. The way they make you feel isn’t your fault. And they do love you, just in a totally fucked up way.”

Oliver looked over at me sharply, a flash of wounded defense in his eyes, his hand tensing a little in mine.

I took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But you shouldn’t have to do anything to deserve their acceptance. You already deserve it. God, Oliver, you deserve...”

My voice cracked, and I swallowed down the emotion threatening to break over me like a tidal wave.

“Look, I’m trying really hard not to say anything unkind about your parents because I know you love them and they love you and it’s complicated. And they must have their own issues to treat you this way. But you are absolutely perfect just the way you are. And I don’t mean perfect like you’re never angry or sad or that you have the perfect body or live a perfect life, I mean that everything about you is exactly perfect because it makes you _you_. And for anyone to make you feel like you aren’t enough... it just makes me so fucking furious, Oliver. Because you’re everything to me.”

I fell silent and bit my lower lip, half wishing I could bite back the words I’d spilled out between us. Had I said too much? Not enough? Had I somehow managed to bollocks things up even further?

Oliver looked over at me, his cheeks wet, and I had to choke back a sob. Fuck. I’d made him cry. On his fucking birthday.

“You’re everything to me too,” he said hoarsely, “And I can’t think of a single thing I want for my birthday other than you.”

And then his lips were on mine, soft with the salt of his tears, his body folding into me, all his tenderness and strength and _Oliverness_ wrapped in my arms.

We stayed that way a long while. Until my arse ached from sitting on the floor for so long and the leg Oliver was leaning against fell stubbornly asleep.

“So what do you want to do tonight?” I asked, leaning my forehead against his and looking into those soft grey eyes.

“I know how much thought you put into all this and I know what a big deal that is, Lucien. I don’t want to be the kind of boyfriend that has a breakdown and ruins all your plans.”

I reached up and cradled the side of his face, running my thumb gently along the ridge of his cheekbone.

“Forget the plans. You’re exactly the kind of boyfriend I want, so we should do whatever you want to. What will make you happiest?”

“Honestly?” He shrugged. “All I want is to stay here with you. Is that incredibly boring and disappointing?”

“It’s incredibly romantic, actually. Somehow I doubt I’m this sweet and lovable when I’m the one having a bathroom breakdown.”

He nuzzled our noses together. “You’re always lovable,” he said warmly.

“So, by here do you mean _here_ here or can we maybe widen our horizons to the rest of the flat?” I asked.

A blush spread across his cheeks, and he laughed. “I might be a wreck, but I do think I can manage to get up off the floor.”

I smiled and kissed him, thinking maybe the night wasn’t going to be such a disaster after all.

That was the moment my stomach decided to give a completely mortifying and undeniably audible grumble.

Oliver pulled away and looked at me. “I’m so selfish, I’ve been wallowing when I should have been thinking about how you’d be feeling,” he said, “I have you trapped here on the floor, you’re clearly starving, and now that I’ve put an end to your thoughtful dinner plans, what are we going to eat?”

“You haven’t trapped me here,” I assured him, “though you’re definitely going to have to help me up since my leg is entirely numb.”

He looked horrified.

“Oh Oliver, I’m kidding. I’m fine. And I’m sure there’s something to eat. You always keep your kitchen stocked.”

“Usually that’s true, because usually on Sunday I get up early and do the week’s shopping. But this past Sunday, as you may recall, a certain someone insisted that I stay in bed all morning and then asked me to accompany them to Pucklethroop-in-the-Wold.”

“A certain someone sounds like a shortsighted arsehole,” I said with a smirk. “I think there’s still some of mum’s special curry in the fridge, since you were too polite to refuse the leftovers she offered to you.”

“No offence,” he said with a groan, “but I think I’d rather starve.”

I laughed. Then I remembered the white box on the kitchen counter.

“I know what we can eat,” I said, “ Come on, help me up.”

We eventually managed to extricate ourselves from the floor and my extremities slowly came back to life as I led Oliver to the kitchen.

He looked at me expectantly and I slid the box over towards him.

“Open it.”

He carefully lifted the top open to expose an exquisite three tiered cake, frosted with lemon buttercream and adorned with vibrant pink slats of rhubarb.

“Oh Lucien,” he gasped, “It’s incredible.” He had the radiant expression of a child on Christmas morning.

I felt like the grinch, my heart growing three sizes and threatening to burst out of my chest.

“James Royce-Royce told me about this up and coming pastry chef at a place in Mayfair, Toby something, wunderkind of the dessert world. Anyway, he makes this lemon rhubarb cake and I thought it sounded perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Oliver said with wonder.

Then his face took on a worried expression, his eyes growing wide. “But we can’t eat cake for dinner.”

He said it as though eating cake for dinner was tantamount to snorting cocaine for breakfast.

“We can do whatever we want,” I said wickedly, enjoying my role as health saboteur immensely. “It’s your birthday. There are no rules.”

“Of course there are rules,” he protested, in his upright barrister voice.

“Okay, okay, there are technically still rules on your birthday,” I admitted. “But the health and ethics police aren’t going to come banging down your door if you eat a bit of cake for dinner. I promise.”

He still looked unsure.

“Come on, you know you want to. There’s a rhubarb compote and lemon curd between the layers...”

He eyed the cake hungrily, biting his lower lip.

“No one will ever know,” I whispered. “We’ll be co-conspirators and I swear I’ll never breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“I can’t tell you how often my clients have made and broken those sorts of promises to their associates.”

“Well I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” I cocked an eyebrow up.

His eyes twinkled and he actually looked around the flat covertly, as if someone might be watching this depraved behavior.

“Okay,” he said with a sideways grin.

I grabbed two forks out from the drawer and hoisted myself up to sit on the counter beside the cake.

“Lucien! We have to cut slices and eat it at the table.”

“We have to do no such thing,” I said, handing him a fork.

He looked at me for a moment, as if I were a snake offering up Eden’s most tantalizing apple. Then he slid himself up to sit on the counter on the other side of the cake.

His eyes were shining, his cheeks pink. The man was literally blushing over eating cake. It took all my willpower not to say sod it to the bloody cake and use the kitchen counter for an altogether different purpose.

I handed a fork across to him. He took it, but made no move to use it.

“Do you remember that first date we went on?” I asked. “You ordered for me and ogled my lemon rhubarb posset?”

“I ogled more than your posset,” he said huskily.

Fuck. Deep breaths. Cake. Cake first.

“I wanted to feed you a bite,” I went on. “I wanted you to look at me like you looked at that dessert.”

Like it was taking everything he had not to devour it. Like if he let himself he would lose all control.

Like he was looking at me across the cake right now. I actually felt myself tremble.

“Will you let me feed you a bite?” I asked.

He nodded, his breath heavy.

I ran the fork through the side of the cake, entering layer by layer of sugary beauty, and carefully lifted it up and over to Oliver’s waiting open mouth.

He took the bite in, smoothing his lips over the fork, closing his eyes in abandoned bliss.

Fuck. With him looking that way I could hardly breathe, let alone eat.

He opened his eyes and looked over at me.

“Can I feed you a bite?” he asked.

I nodded, steeling myself, afraid that right now the slightest touch from him might be enough to send me over the edge.

I closed my eyes and opened my mouth.

And then I felt a gentle swipe across my cheek.

I opened my eyes and glared at him in mock fury, wiping my finger against the frosting adorning my face.

“You cheeky bastard! I cannot believe you just did that!”

Laughter sprung from him, bubbling out like effervescent joy. I couldn’t help it, I laughed too.

Then I watched as he looked up at me, his face growing still, his eyes hungry with want.

He slid off of the counter and came to stand in front of me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and rested my arms around his broad, strong shoulders.

He leaned in close, and I felt his warm breath and the slightest hint of stubble brush against my face. He slowly licked the frosting from my cheek, sending an agonizing jolt of longing through me. His lips moved to kiss the spot where the sticky sweetness had been, then moved down to meet mine.

I could taste the sugary tang of lemon on his tongue as I drew him closer, all his softness and strength leaving me dizzy and aching and exhilarated.

“Lucien,” he said softly, his voice turning my name thick and warm in his mouth.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if we changed our plans again?”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked. “It’s your birthday, remember, so we can do whatever you want.”

He pressed himself against me, reckless, ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“This cake is fucking incredible, but all I want right now is you.”

Christ, he was irresistible when he swore.

“I’m all yours,” I answered breathlessly.

The cake would have to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't resist a little nod to Toby from For Real, another of my favorites by Alexis Hall :)
> 
> I've been loving reading the fics in this fandom, since I can't get enough of these two, and I wanted to try writing one. Thanks for reading!


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